


A Blank Past

by Middeer (Cryptic)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil (Movieverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Don't worry the OCs name isn't even used, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Imagine your own to your heart's content, Lazy Mornings, Pre RE1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8763511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptic/pseuds/Middeer
Summary: “Not quite.” She began, bracing her elbows against the clear glass tabletop. “It just made me think, the other day - you know, I have no idea who your family even is. Every time I’ve tried to get into the subject, you just kind of… you shut down. Family, where you were born, where you grew up - you haven’t really told me anything.”Opening up about one's difficult past was never easy, but when did the point come where he finally needed to come clean?





	

“You never really talk about yourself, you know?”

Wesker didn’t exactly expect those to be a few of the first words he heard that morning.

It was a heavy topic for it being so early, and the mug Wesker had begun to draw to his lips paused halfway to its target, grip perhaps a tad too firm once the words registered in his tired brain. The morning was a lazy Saturday, the first he had in many weeks, and such a discussion wasn’t exactly what he had looked to begin it with. His steely eyes flashed as he drew the ceramic the rest of the way to his mouth. 

The coffee within was just a bit too hot to drink comfortably, but a slightly burned tongue was preferable to a quick response.

Unfortunately, his partner appeared patient, and her eyes watched his movements unflinchingly. Worse yet, her brow furrowed, picking up on the way his non-obscured expression quickly concealed itself before her worry could become warranted.

“Albert?” Her arms crossed over her bosom, her own held mug placed atop the counter so the movement went more smoothly. It was her favorite, he silently noted - a gaudy dye pattern she’d picked up at a festival some years back. The Birkins had dragged them along, as heavens knew they’d never have gone on their own. “Albert, if you’re sleepwalking, you ought to let me know now. Otherwise, you’re going to end up drowning yourself with that. Or dumping it in your lap, whichever comes first.”

Wesker felt his lips twitch at the words, an attempt to perhaps interject some humor into the serious weight her words held. Whether or not she realized how much they truly did, however, he wasn’t quite aware.

“I’m awake. I just haven’t woken up enough to respond - give me a few minutes, won’t you?”

She scoffed, and he watched the roll of her eyes, a golden brown that glinted with the dim light shining through the kitchen’s numerous windows. They were both such early risers, often awake before sunlight had even breached the horizon.

It became obvious then that she was not going to leave the subject at that, and if he was honest, he already knew she would not. Being brushed off was not something the woman ever accepted quietly, and it was a trait he admired. 

Just not at the very moment.

“Don’t give me that, Albert. If you’re awake enough to catalog culture samples,” Her chin jerked to motion at the stack of papers at Wesker’s elbow, pen resting atop them to keep the gentle breeze from the opened window from blowing them away. “Then you’re awake enough to deal with some of my early morning bitching.”

Her phrasing was enough to nearly draw a chuckle from his throat, but all he managed was a breathy sigh in response to her jeering, a hand moving to rub at the thin space between his eyes. So much for a day off, even if he’d planned to spend it with business conducted as usual.

Slender fingers wrapped once more around the warmth of her mug, she circled around the table he rested at, bare feet pattering gently against the floor as she pulled out the chair opposite his. Neither of them were exactly dressed or presentable yet, hair tousled and still in wrinkled night clothes, but it added to the casual feeling of the morning. 

At least, he hoped it would remain casual. He wasn’t up to a fight - especially when she had a tendency to win. She was never one to lose in an argument.

“Did something bring this up? I don’t recall saying anything that might.”

Her lips pursed before settling back into a thin line, and he watched as her fingertips tapped at the mug, nails causing a soft ring that held just a bit too strong a volume for the quiet morning. “I mean, that’s actually sort of it. You not saying anything, I mean.”

Wesker’s brow raised as his mug did the same, bitter liquid flowing across his tongue and worsening the burn that scorched away his sense of taste. He only responded once feeling returned to the muscle, which took a few still seconds. “... Oh?”

“Not like - how do I put it…” Her gaze scanned the apartment, a living quarters the both of them had occupied for only a short time now. 

They had been an official coupling for several months now, the longest they had gone without a messy cycle of splitting apart and coming back together after a few weeks of absence, and Wesker wasn’t quite fond of the idea of the topic she now delved into being another straw to break the relationship’s back. He found himself wary, and watched her carefully.

“It’s just… Albert, we’ve known each other for… years now, actually. Damn, it really has been a long time - but what I’m getting at is that sometimes… I don’t feel like I actually know you.” Her hands clenched tight to her cup, dark skinned knuckles strained pale with the force placed behind it. “I know what you like, I know what _you’re_ like, but when it comes to where you came from…”

Wesker found himself almost puzzled by her words, displayed clearly by the way his eyes narrowed the barest hint of a fraction. “And this bothers you?”

Her look was incredulous, and she seemed taken slightly aback by his retort. “Well… Yeah, kinda. Yes, actually. It bothers me.”

“How so?”

It was her turn to massage a pressure point now, the warmth her mug transferred to her fingertips a welcome feeling. There were many headaches transferred between the two, a usual sort of song and dance they had become used to while trying to make the relationship work, but it didn’t make the bumps in the road any less irritating. “How - … Al, just… take a second to glance around for me, alright?”

He did so without question, but wasn’t entirely sure what she was getting at quite yet. Steel blue eyes glanced about the spacious kitchen, through the arched doorway and into the living room, but he still found himself confused.

Confusion wasn’t a feeling he had often, and he returned his gaze to his other half as soon as it felt appropriate, brow raised. “Done. Now, what exactly was I supposed to be looking for?”

She did not appear amused. “How many pictures do you notice around the place? Or cards? How about gifts?” 

His eyes narrowed another bit, but Wesker looked back at his surroundings, gaze scanning over the picture frames on the wall, and the few cards scattered over the top of the piano that they never cleared away with the rest of the last holiday decorations. He noticed the pattern she might have been pointing out, the fact that practically everything… Well, anything not purchased by the two of them happened to be - 

“It’s all from my family, Albert. Like, everything. There’s nothing from yours, that I can tell. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

His lips pursed, fingers tapping against his cup as he turned back to face her. From his position, it wasn’t as easy to see as she might have hoped, but he managed his best inference. “The lack of my _family’s_ involvement, perhaps? Is that the problem?”

“Not quite.” She began, bracing her elbows against the clear glass tabletop. “It just made me think, the other day - you know, I have no idea who your family even is. Every time I’ve tried to get into the subject, you just kind of… you shut down. Family, where you were born, where you grew up - you haven’t really told me anything.”

Wesker had entirely stilled by that point, gaze turned down at the table’s surface as she spoke. This was indeed a subject he often dodged, and his breath released in one sudden exhale, a released gasp he hadn’t even been aware he held.

His chair pushed back as he stood, cup drawn from the table as his partner’s shoulders quickly tensed in return.

“I swear to God, Albert, if you just walk away from this again -”

“I’m just refilling my cup, settle down.” Wesker cut off her agitated words before they gained a foothold in the conversation, or broke the wary peace that began to ripple and waver the minute she breached the topic. True to his word, he topped off his mug with the still-warm pot of coffee sitting in the brewer, and returned to stand by the table.

She noted that he simply stood, making no move to sit down and relax as he had previously done. Both of them were now tense, rigid, and this was just as risky a topic to bring up as she had assumed it would be.

It needed to be done, however. She couldn’t just sit and find herself wondering for the hundredth time just who her own significant other was, and the mystery behind how he instantly broke any conversation that began to dip in the timeline that occurred before their mutual employment at Umbrella’s head research facility. 

Why was he always so secretive about it? Trauma is what she instantly assumed, or a poor relationship with family, but… 

“I really don’t want to talk about this.” The brisk silence that had passed them by was broken with Wesker’s words, an arm folded across his chest that braced the opposite elbow in his hand. He took another slow drink, gaze pointedly cast away. “You know this topic is difficult.”

“Wanting to know who you are is difficult?” She moved a hand to balance her cheek in its palm, brow set in a way that made her expression difficult to read. Brows knit a little too close to be simply discontented, but not quite stern enough to be angry. He was going to be as dramatic as ever, wasn’t he?

“Here I was thinking that we knew each other quite well by now. Not knowing where I came from makes me that much of a stranger to you?”

“No - Al, goddammit, do you have to make this so hard?” Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and she finally stood from the chair, scraping back with such a harsh sound that Wesker felt his shoulders twitch in automatic reaction. “You just… you don’t trust me, do you?”

This was something he hadn’t heard before - at least, not recently. Arms slowly relaxing from his defensive position, he placed down his mug, fixing his partner with a look that almost appeared concerned. For once, he seemed at a loss for words, an issue he didn’t often have. Normally, words came quite easily.

Wesker glanced away for a moment, avoiding the fixated stare of the woman affront him. He spent his time searching for the right answer, one that communicated his intent well enough without causing any residual anger. 

It was difficult finding a way to explain, as he never breached the subject. There was no reason to, usually. Having to explain exactly why… He didn’t quite know how.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you.”

She scoffed, not quite seeming convinced. Her position was now as defensive as his had been, short temper getting the best of her better judgement. Perhaps she didn’t quite realize the sensitivity of the matters at hand - that was what Wesker assumed, anyway.

“It’s more complicated than that. It goes beyond trust, I assure you.”

“If only I felt more assured.” Her tone is mildly snide, but Wesker could tell that she was making an attempt to reel down her more sarcastic reactions. They were often far more biting. 

He enjoyed the fire she brought to most discussions, but now was not the time. It was appreciated that she at least seemed aware of this, even if she refused to back down from the discussion despite Wesker’s obvious discomfort.

“I mean, I know you trust me - but only to a point.” She finally glanced away, giving him momentary reprieve from her burning stare. It quickly returned. “We’ve known each other for, what, five years now? I’d hope you had at least a _little_ faith in me by now.”

“I doubt the first one counts. We didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye until the Birkins got involved.”

She gave a light hum in reply. “That wasn’t my doing, you’re the one who - okay, okay, no steering away from the topic, Albert.”

A shame; Wesker had quietly hoped it would derail her.

“Look, just… For once in your life, give me a straight answer. If you don’t want to get into the deeper things right now, then fine, I’ll respect that, and I’ll leave you alone.” She’d stepped a bit closer now, but still held herself at a distance. Wesker watched her brush a strand of hair from her eyes, still tangled and untidy. “But just tell me this, okay? What makes it so hard to talk about?”

Wesker went quiet again, and appeared to be almost lost in thought. His fingers thrummed against the flesh of his bicep, and it was a long, quiet moment before he finally opened his mouth. His eyes traveled back to a framed picture she had put on the piano’s top, featuring a Polaroid of first time he had the _“wonderful”_ opportunity to meet his partner’s family. December of 1994 was written below it, the date of their previous holiday gathering.

An actual family, even if the father of said family had a lukewarm reception to him at best.

It was quite the foreign concept to him.

“Al?”

Her voice shook him back to reality, and Wesker finally returned his attention to her. He supposed he had the best response he could manage at hand, and delivered it with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. “Because I don’t have a past worth talking about.”

That was obviously a far more vague answer than she had hoped for, and her mouth opened to let him know, but Wesker held up a finger to stop her. 

He wasn’t quite done.

“And by that, I mean this: there is not enough good worth mentioning, and the bad of it… is nothing I really want to bring up. Ever.” Wesker didn’t offer much information beyond that, but it was more than he had given before, and seemed to settle his significant other - to only a slight degree, but it was an improvement. “I don’t talk about family because I don’t have one, not in the manner that you’re thinking of.”

Wesker’s arms crossed back over his chest, but the position wasn’t as defensive as before. It was more as if he simply didn’t know what to do with them, and drew them back to alleviate the issue. “Shutting down the discussion was always easier than trying to explain it. I never realized that it mattered that much to you.”

She went quiet for a good, long moment. It was as if she was attempting to process how satisfactory his reply had been, eyes downcast towards the floor. 

Wesker remained patient, simply allowing her to mull over his words, but eventually retrieved his coffee mug to take a sip of the cooled liquid. He found himself glad the most recent drink hadn’t melted the insides of his mouth, and released a slow breath as he lowered himself back into the chair he’d previously occupied. The pen atop the stack of papers is gripped, dark streaks of ink staining the nearest page as he firmly crossed out culture samples already recorded, or useless to current research.

“ … So, it’s basically like you didn’t even exist before you turned seventeen, huh?”

Wesker didn’t look up. “In all honesty, that’s a rather apt description of the situation.”

It wasn’t long until he finally heard the quiet sound of footsteps circle around the table, arms braced against its top as his partner (the words “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” just sounded so juvenile - neither tended to use them unless asked by others for clarification) finally appeared to finish contemplating what he had to say.

They likely weren’t any less confused, but the sharp weight of a chin balancing itself into the crook of his neck and shoulder grabs his half-assed attention from the papers he currently desecrated, looking to see dark eyes angled up to gaze at him. He couldn’t tell if the expression was apologetic or full of sympathy, but couldn’t help his smirk regardless.

“That better not be pity in your eyes,” Wesker began, doubting it was truly either, but unable to resist the statement. “You know how I feel about that.”

Thankfully, it drew a soft laugh from her chest rather than a look of contempt, arms snaking over his shoulders to rest against his bare torso. Her fingers locked together over his skin. “God, no. A kicked puppy is pitiful. You’re the one kicking the dog in the ass.”

Wesker wasn’t quite sure what to think of that statement, but she continued without giving him a chance to retort.

“I’m just glad I got… you know, some kind of answer out of you. It means more than you think, even if it wasn’t much.”

Releasing a pent breath, Wesker’s hand lifted to his side in order to give a languid rub up his partner’s back, the gestures of affection rarely exchanged between the two of them, but not quite unwanted when they happened. They simply weren’t a couple full of blatant affection, their personal ways of showing care a fair bit more subdued. Regardless, it was rather nice when one was in the right mood for it.

“You’re welcome. I might offer more, but it’s a bit early for that, I think.” Cold blue eyes glanced towards the nearest window, sun just then beginning to lift its way into the sky to illuminate the outdoors beyond a dull glow. “Am I allowed to wake up now?”

“Wow. Your romantic capabilities truly have no bounds, Albert.” The tone sounded sharp and biting, but experience told him well that affection laid underneath the veil. A quick kiss is pressed to his temple before his partner finally drew away, quick smile offered in return as she arched her back in a morning stretch. “Alright, you’ve dealt with me enough for one morning. Just promise me you’re not gonna work all day, ‘kay? Enjoy the day off for once.”

As her strong work ethic rivaled his own, nearly to a dangerous degree, Wesker couldn’t help but bark out a quiet laugh, lips then parting in silent protest as quick fingers snatched the pen from his grip. “How wonderfully hypocritical of you.”

“Of course. Now, I’m gonna go make sure I don’t look like I just rolled out of bed - Ann managed to talk William into watching Sherry for once and wants to drag me out today. Hell knows what she has planned.”

Wesker gave a soft noise in reply, standing with the stack of files held tight in one hand before his partner’s voice brought his attention back.

“Oh yeah, Al?”

“Yes?”

Her expression had softened considerably, a look not at all common for her. Normally, she appeared to be varying degrees of angered, no matter what she truly felt. “Will you promise me that you’ll actually tell me soon? About what really happened?”

Wesker stopped again, but he wasn’t as tense or discomforted as before, and it wasn’t long before he gave her a resigned sort of look. “Hm, perhaps. It’s nothing easy to get into, as is painfully obvious by now, but a good drink or two ought to make it a little easier.” A mischievous glint appeared in his eye, lips twitched into a smirk. “Especially if someone else is buying.”

She paused, and attempted an eye roll in response, but it was interrupted by a quick laugh. A firm pat is given to the shoulder before she finally turned to leave, readying herself for the inevitably long outing. “Tell you what - you handle cooking for today, and I’ll come home with a few bottles of the good stuff. We’ll knock back a few, and the winner gets to top tonight.”

Clearly not expecting the last part, a chuckle broke Wesker’s lips. “That sounds agreeable. Feeling submissive tonight, I assume?”

“That's just what you're hoping, isn't it?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes with amusement as she finally disappeared up the stairs, files tossed aside onto the kitchen’s island as he rummaged through the pantry for breakfast ingredients. Coffee wasn’t exactly a complete meal.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest, I really just used an OC (who I didn't even name in this fic lmao) because I didn't want to write this story in second person, and it's really hard to write reader slash in third person - I wanted it more in Wesker's perspective. And because I don't really ship anyone in the RE universe enough to comfortably write for it.
> 
> Also because you just gotta indulge sometimes.
> 
> Anyway, I took a break from writing porn to bang out this super self-indulgent fic because I'd gone on a small stint of reading through others that touched upon Wesker's backstory, and the fact that he probably had a super shitty childhood because of the project. Hell, he probably didn't even have one at all, which explains his horrid emotional stunting - perfect story material! So I went ahead and wrote this. 
> 
> I was in the mood to write weird fluff-but-not-really. It's more neutral angst with a fluff splat at the end, I think. Whatever, my hands just weren't cooperating with the porn.
> 
> I might write a short sequel to this that goes more in depth to my own headcanons about his childhood, but for now, enjoy this. I also barely edited it because I am very tired.


End file.
